


Your warmth is all I have

by katterv



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Crowley Has Long Hair (Good Omens), Developing Relationship, Don't copy to another site, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by Fanart, M/M, Mild Blood, POV Crowley (Good Omens), Protective Crowley (Good Omens), The Fanart in Question Included, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-08-13 06:11:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20169451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katterv/pseuds/katterv
Summary: Aziraphale is hurt, unconscious and so, so cold. Crowley hates it.





	1. Chapter 1

The angel in his arms is sweaty and cold. Why is he cold? Shouldn’t he be healing? _Is he not healing?_

Crowley draws a shuddering breath and grits his teeth. _Don’t be stupid._ He can feel every twitch and tremble of the wounded wing with how tight he is gripping Aziraphale. He can feel severed tendons growing back and blood vessels recovering, slowly webbing across the delicate inner map of a corporeal angel wing. He grimaces at the wet crackling sound of hollow bone mending its shattered fragments back together. It’s slow and the bloodstains won’t come off without a molt or a miracle but he _is_ healing.

It doesn’t do much to reassure him, Crowley notes grimly, not when Aziraphale is so cold. It’s _wrong._ Angels, or just this one, fuck if he knows, shouldn’t be cold. Aziraphale has always been warm, almost like the sun, in a way that makes Crowley amenable to the idea of completely forsaking his favourite shape in favour of spending the rest of eternity coiled around the angel.

His breath hitches and he curses, _fuck, Aziraphale will be fine, stop crying._ To distract himself with something, if just for one moment, Crowley moves on the straws to lean against a wall and attempts to make himself more comfortable. He pulls Aziraphale closer, lifts a shaky hand to the side of his head and gently cradles him against his chest, thumb softly caressing the silvery blond curls. They are cold and damp at the roots and Crowley hates it.

The demon doesn’t pay much attention to the time until the first light of dawn trickles from the cracks in the hovel’s walls. It promises warmth that’s not yet there but will be, in due time. A lone ray of sunlight kisses the angel’s cheek and as if by some sort of magic he wakes up.

Crowley feels him stir and has to bite back a sigh of relief - it wouldn’t do to let the angel know how worried he was - resulting in a much more acceptable _huff._ However, he doesn’t look at Aziraphale even when the angel shifts in his arms to look up. There is a soft inhale, as if he saw something that touched him to the core. Crowley clenches his jaw. _Too soft._

“Crowley…” Aziraphale starts but the demon cuts him off.

“Shut up”, he says, voice rough and tight. “Shut up, it’s fine, couldn’t very well leave you out there, now could I. Shut up.” 

Aziraphale must be utterly exhausted from healing his wing since this time that’s all it takes for him to give up trying to thank Crowley. He just smiles against his chest, not just settling back into his lap but actually _embracing_ him and finally, finally, _finally_ the angel is warming up. Crowley’s heart swells with something unnamed and suddenly it doesn’t matter anymore that Aziraphale saw the tear-stains on his face.


	2. Chapter 2

That something swells, swells and swells inside Crowley’s chest and then it’s simply too much. He can’t hold it in any longer.

“’Ziraphale”, he manages before his breath catches in his throat, his overflowing feelings mangling words into sobs. The angel stiffens, then squeezes Crowley’s middle gently before lifting himself upright, emotion – concern, pity? No, not pity, never that – creasing his forehead.

“I’m here, I’m here”, he murmurs softly, smoothing back some of the stray hairs that had fallen on the demon’s face. He brushes his thumb over a cheekbone. “My dear, I’m so sorry for making you worry.”

Crowley grimaces and makes a strangled sound. What good are appearances, anyway, what good has it ever done to pretend he doesn’t care? (Plenty, as long as their lots are concerned, but that doesn’t seem to matter at the moment.) What’s certain is that it doesn’t do good for his heart. Not for Aziraphale’s, either. Unable to form words, he snaps his fingers and the miracle cleans the dried, crusty blood off of the angel’s wing, leaving the feathers white and pristine again.

Aziraphale sighs, grateful, and presses a hand against the small of Crowley’s back. His smile is watery but so, so fond. “Thank you, _dearheart.”_

Crowley swallows the lump in his throat with a whimper and gathers the angel into his arms, one hand cupping the back of Aziraphale’s neck, the other snaking under the pair of wings and the angel curls into him, effortless, not unlike a puzzle piece finding its proper place. Crowley buries his nose into divinely soft hair. Even Aziraphale’s scent is warm: the softest whiff of cardamom, parchment and wool. He inhales, exhales, inhales again and as he slowly calms down he makes a decision.

“We could stay. Just a while longer”, he says, voice hoarse and barely above a whisper. They’re safe, and warm, and together. It will be fine. “Angel?”

Aziraphale sniffles and grips the demon’s robe. Their reality is weighing heavily on his shoulders but he thinks he can overlook it. He has to. He doesn’t want to leave.

“We can stay”, he murmurs and cannot help smiling at the relieved hum he gets in response.

As soon as they exit the hovel they’ll be going their separate ways once again like so many times before and neither of them – especially Crowley – is ready for it yet. He’s never ready, if Crowley is completely honest, never ready to part with the warmth that is Aziraphale, so he’ll be damned if he doesn’t take the chance to hold onto him for a little longer.

It’s not enough but he will manage.

He always does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THEY'RE IN LOVE OK OK OK AND I'M A SELF-INDULGENT MESS DON'T @ ME

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to draw wings and here we are, somehow. (I recommend opening the picture in another tab if you're on mobile :D)


End file.
